words because. . . to please you. I often hear songs and verses in my head. I’m sorry.’
He looked at me in wonder.
‘You did make it up, didn’t you?’
‘Forgive me,’ I said, fearfully.
To my surprise, he laughed his dry laugh.
‘There’s not a gentleman for fifty li with a son who can compose like that! So your mother is right about your true talents. She was always shrewd. When you were born, I prayed that you would win renown in the Glorious Destiny Regiment. Now I see you are heading a different way.’
That afternoon he said nothing more, but drank his wine and ate his basket of rice and river shrimp. Though I did not know it, those lines of verse, crude and childish, but highly precocious, had determined my fate.
Everyone knows poetry is the key to wealth and office.
Only those who can reproduce the wisdom of the classics through faithful imitation dare hope to pass the examinations and enter the Emperor’s vermilion doors. Then the way to honour and esteem for one’s family lies wide open, a road lined with envy and precious things. Father was well aware that scholar-officials were the real power in the land of Sung. The Son of Heaven distrusted military men, fearing his generals might attempt to seize the throne for themselves.
That same evening, Father summoned a monk to write a long letter to his brother, my Uncle Ming, in the capital, and set about waiting for the reply. He was good at waiting, as with everything else. Yet I sensed his impatience.
For he had made up his mind I was to pass the Emperor’s examination and become a high official.
Six months were all that remained of childhood, before I had to change from a spoilt, carefree boy to an anxious scholar. My time in Wei was drawing to its end. Mother hugged me frequently, and made me a suit of clothes far too big, as though she hoped to keep warm my future self. Sometimes she wept for no reason. Once she took me aside when Father was away in the village and whispered:
‘You must promise me one thing, Yun Cai. Do you promise?’
‘What is it, Mother?’
‘Do you promise?’ she repeated, fiercely.
By now I was alarmed.
‘Yes,’ I said, wide-eyed.
‘When you reach the capital, you must never provoke or offend Honoured Aunty in any way. Do you understand? Never .’
Honoured Aunty was Uncle Ming’s official wife. I nodded earnestly.
‘Do not forget. She will always be mindful that you are my son. That is why you should keep on the right side of her. And do not mention any of this to Father.’
That night I dreamt of a cold, beautiful woman who I took to be Honoured Aunty. In my dream she was the Empress Lu, cruelly torturing the Lady Qi, who was Mother. I woke up screaming.
One month passed, then three, and four. Everyone in Three-Step-House began to treat me with new respect, even Father, as though I had been singled out for something auspicious and remarkable.
There is a huge boulder on the hillside above Three-Step-House, where I often sat at this time. I used to scramble up its side, nimble as a mountain goat, and resist Little Wudi’s attempts to join me by poking a stick at him.
We called it Wobbly-Watch-Tower-Rock. At the top I would settle and gaze west, a cool breeze stirring the tuft on my head. Crag and cliff rose against skies of earnest blue. Cloud like a dense plain broken by scattered peaks, snow-capped and enticing, waiting to be climbed. Those mountain-moods formed my soul.
Uncle Ming’s eldest son arrived to collect me at the end of autumn. A long procession of camels and strangely-garbed men climbed up Wei Valley. At the news of their coming, Mother stood stock still, helplessly wringing her hands beneath long, trailing sleeves. She hurried off to a private chamber to compose herself.
Cousin Hong seemed a prince. He alighted from a litter lugged by eight sweating servants and his green silks glittered like polished jade in the sun. Gold amulets and charms to preserve him on the road hung from
He looked at me in wonder.
‘You did make it up, didn’t you?’
‘Forgive me,’ I said, fearfully.
To my surprise, he laughed his dry laugh.
‘There’s not a gentleman for fifty li with a son who can compose like that! So your mother is right about your true talents. She was always shrewd. When you were born, I prayed that you would win renown in the Glorious Destiny Regiment. Now I see you are heading a different way.’
That afternoon he said nothing more, but drank his wine and ate his basket of rice and river shrimp. Though I did not know it, those lines of verse, crude and childish, but highly precocious, had determined my fate.
Everyone knows poetry is the key to wealth and office.
Only those who can reproduce the wisdom of the classics through faithful imitation dare hope to pass the examinations and enter the Emperor’s vermilion doors. Then the way to honour and esteem for one’s family lies wide open, a road lined with envy and precious things. Father was well aware that scholar-officials were the real power in the land of Sung. The Son of Heaven distrusted military men, fearing his generals might attempt to seize the throne for themselves.
That same evening, Father summoned a monk to write a long letter to his brother, my Uncle Ming, in the capital, and set about waiting for the reply. He was good at waiting, as with everything else. Yet I sensed his impatience.
For he had made up his mind I was to pass the Emperor’s examination and become a high official.
Six months were all that remained of childhood, before I had to change from a spoilt, carefree boy to an anxious scholar. My time in Wei was drawing to its end. Mother hugged me frequently, and made me a suit of clothes far too big, as though she hoped to keep warm my future self. Sometimes she wept for no reason. Once she took me aside when Father was away in the village and whispered:
‘You must promise me one thing, Yun Cai. Do you promise?’
‘What is it, Mother?’
‘Do you promise?’ she repeated, fiercely.
By now I was alarmed.
‘Yes,’ I said, wide-eyed.
‘When you reach the capital, you must never provoke or offend Honoured Aunty in any way. Do you understand? Never .’
Honoured Aunty was Uncle Ming’s official wife. I nodded earnestly.
‘Do not forget. She will always be mindful that you are my son. That is why you should keep on the right side of her. And do not mention any of this to Father.’
That night I dreamt of a cold, beautiful woman who I took to be Honoured Aunty. In my dream she was the Empress Lu, cruelly torturing the Lady Qi, who was Mother. I woke up screaming.
One month passed, then three, and four. Everyone in Three-Step-House began to treat me with new respect, even Father, as though I had been singled out for something auspicious and remarkable.
There is a huge boulder on the hillside above Three-Step-House, where I often sat at this time. I used to scramble up its side, nimble as a mountain goat, and resist Little Wudi’s attempts to join me by poking a stick at him.
We called it Wobbly-Watch-Tower-Rock. At the top I would settle and gaze west, a cool breeze stirring the tuft on my head. Crag and cliff rose against skies of earnest blue. Cloud like a dense plain broken by scattered peaks, snow-capped and enticing, waiting to be climbed. Those mountain-moods formed my soul.
Uncle Ming’s eldest son arrived to collect me at the end of autumn. A long procession of camels and strangely-garbed men climbed up Wei Valley. At the news of their coming, Mother stood stock still, helplessly wringing her hands beneath long, trailing sleeves. She hurried off to a private chamber to compose herself.
Cousin Hong seemed a prince. He alighted from a litter lugged by eight sweating servants and his green silks glittered like polished jade in the sun. Gold amulets and charms to preserve him on the road hung from
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